


Clarity in This Insanity

by poppetawoppet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/pseuds/poppetawoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets Moriarty in the dead of night, to tell him some startling news<br/>Title from the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSSlVu9wGgg">"I Need to Know"</a> by Kris Allen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity in This Insanity

The smell of chlorine, and John almost turns. It isn't the same pool. The police monitor the old site too well. _Mycroft_ monitors the site too well.

But it is a pool, nonetheless, and it is midnight, and John is waiting. He pulls his jacket close; the long cold, wet snap has permeated to his bones. He tugs on the scarf around his neck and rubs his hand together. He paces to distract himself.

He's been trying to distract himself a lot today.

"Oh this is too perfect!"

John turns at the familiar voice, mocking and high.

"Now you're sharing clothes? I hadn't realized you two had finally declared eternal love. When's the wedding?"

John looks at Moriarty; says nothing.

"Now I am curious," Moriarty walks around John, "I only came because it was you. Is this some sort of ploy by Sherlock to intimidate me? Or are you two just trying to mess with my head?"

"No."

"He speaks at last!" Moriarty says.

"I see you left your hired hands at home."

"I had them sweep before going. You really came alone. This must be a special occasion, because you didn't even bring your gun."

"I don't need it."

Moriarty frowns. "You aren't being very fun, John. There has to be a reason _you_ asked me here. Because if this is just a game, I will be very, very cross with you."

"This is not a game."

"This is not a game," Moriarty repeated, using the same flat voice as John. "You've been out of the military for three years now, John, why don't you loosen up a little?"

"Perhaps this is not the time."

Moriarty sighs. "What is keeping Sherlock? Now that I think of it, I haven't seen him in awhile."  
John closes his eyes.

*

_Five days earlier_

It isn't even a hard case. But the murders are strange enough for Sherlock, so he takes it anyway. Toxicology on the bodies is confusing at best, and John and Sarah spend hours just trying to unlock the puzzle.

Then Sherlock receives a package. A simple bottle.

If John had been home, common sense would have prevailed.

But Sherlock is alone, so he examines the bottle, puts some aside for testing, and then drinks some.

Nothing happens at first. That's how the killer works. Then two days later, it hits.  
John is frantic. Sherlock is ecstatic. He is writing down as much as he can, in between the fits of diarrhea and puking. John follows him around, trying to convince Sherlock to go the hospital already. Sherlock shakes his head and says no, we almost have this cracked.

The next day Sherlock is almost normal again, except for a slight fever. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work on formulas and cures and scientific experiments John has never seen, not even in three years of living at 221b.

*

John opens his eyes. "Sherlock's dead, Jim."

Moriarty is silent for a full minute before he bursts into laughter.

"Oh, that's good. That's just excellent."

He begins to clap. "Beautiful execution. Come on out, Sherlock, you've had your fun. How long did you have to coach John before he could pull off the wounded face just so?"

Jim's voice echoes, but there is no answer.

"This isn't a joke, Jim. He died this morning."

Moriarty blinks. "Sherlock? Dead?"

He looks crestfallen. Lost. Smaller, even. All the things John supposes he should be, but is too afraid to let out.

"Yes."

"But, but, I was going to kill him."

Moriarty is pacing now, running a hand through his hair.

"I know."

Moriarty turns to look at John."How are you so calm? This. This is terrible!"

"Shouldn't I be calm?"

John relishes the pain as Moriarty throws him into the wall, welcomes the screaming in his ear.

"No! You should be angry! Or resentful! Or something!"

With each exclamation, Moriarty slams John's shoulders back, as if to shake the calm from him.

"Where do you get off telling me how I should feel?" John yells back.

He realizes this is why he had contacted Moriarty. He was spoiling for a fight and Moriarty was an easy and convenient target.

He pushes back, yelling something, driving Moriarty to the ground and his fist is hurting, but it's the only thing he feels, so he keeps doing it.

*

_That morning_

"I think I may have made a very fatal error John."

John looks up from his notes. Sherlock is lying on the couch, bundled up, pale and listless.

"You? Make a mistake? Let me call Lestrade. _The Daily Mirror_. This needs to be documented."

Sherlock's laugh turns into a deep cough. He waves away John for a moment, composes himself.

"Yes, me. You'll have to blog about it. I'm sure Moriarty would appreciate the irony."

"I'm sure."

Sherlock looks at him. John wants to look away, because he can't say it. He won't say it. Because it would be admitting everything he has been trying to keep at bay all these years.

"You do know, John, that I value our friendship greatly."

Sherlock takes John's hand and squeezes it. John laughs, and it's a little watery.

*

John pauses, pulling out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket. He pulls Moriarty from the ground.

"I thought—"

"You thought I was going to kill you?" John says.

Moriarty nods.

"No. I'm going to do worse. I'm going to let you live. You may have swept, but you forgot to monitor my calls. I told Lestrade to wait about forty minutes and then come. I'm sure he should be here right about—"

"Did you really have to punch him in the face John?"

John turns to Lestrade. "Sorry. He pushed me against the wall."

Moriarty gapes, searching for words. "Wait. I haven't—"

"Yes you have," John walks Moriarty over to Lestrade. "Understand this: Sherlock had enough evidence on you to put you away for a long time. So you could say it was he who put you away. But I want you to remember, it was me who caught you. Little old Dr. John Watson. Ordinary me."

Moriarty lunges for John, but Lestrade holds him back.

"You okay to get home by yourself?" Lestrade asks.

John nods. "Call me when the trial starts."

John watches them walk away. It isn't how he had imagined it. Sherlock should have been grinning in triumph, holding it over everyone's head that he had figured out the final piece of the puzzle. Instead John catches the bus home, because a cab would be too empty.

He searches the cupboards, trying to find something. His hand is shaking again, and John wonders how long it will be before he starts using the cane hidden so carefully in the corner.

He finds a toe in a jar behind the teabags. He places it on the counter and begins to laugh. He finally sits in the chair, tears rolling down his face, his whole body shaking in laughter. Then he is weeping, clutching the scarf around his neck and trying not to wake Mrs. Hudson. It subsides after a long time, and John unfolds himself.

What was he to do now?

He opens his computer.

_I cannot begin to say the necessary words. Perhaps I have worked my last case. I do not know how I could continue without Sherlock anyway. Perhaps it is best if I end this portion of my blog as such: Today my greatest friend left this world. But he left his memory, and for now, that has to be enough._

John closes the computer, and spots Sherlock's violin, haphazardly lain in the corner. He puts it in the case. He can still smell the chlorine of the pool, from the bathroom where he had cleaned after they had taken the body away.

He looks around the room, wondering where to start his life again.

John lies on the couch, looking at the ceiling. He curls his hand and waits for the dreams to come.

_"You do know, John, that I value our friendship greatly."_

Sherlock takes John's hand and squeezes it. John laughs, and it's a little watery.

"I love you too," John says.

Sherlock's eyes have already closed.


End file.
